A Brief Letter
by moon- n-star
Summary: Jack and Sam are forced to define the lines of their new friendship


******  
  
Jack coasted to the final checkpoint, his exhausted feet dragging with the notion of adding his signature to yet another useless paper. Mentally ticking off the current NHL standings as he walked, his gait devoid of its usual swagger, O'Neill anesthetized his mind from any recollections of the past few days. After a few needles, a speedy debriefing, and an even speedier shower, he resolved while dressing to abandon all thoughts of work. As he neared the line's end, the person ahead of him turned to the stationed SF, her eyesight never rising above the clipboard in her hand.   
  
He recognized her just the same.   
  
"Hey." Sam looked up at the sound. Mutely, she stepped aside as O'Neill quickly took the proffered document and scribbled his name. His head motioned toward the exit as he returned the log, wordlessly requesting to accompany her outside.   
  
"Goodnight Colonel ... Doctor." The SF issued the firm salutation, receiving a polite nod from both in reply.   
  
Without words, the two figures stepped forward ... side-by-side, but ensconced in silence marred only by the scuffing of shoes against pavement.   
  
Sheer and still, the night flaunted its majesty with a parade of its liveliest tinders that littered the sky. Neither glanced up to view the tiny candles, however, both too worn out and too cognizant that the harsh lights from the mountain would blur the spectacle. The air had cooled since Jack had last stepped outside, but not wintry enough to see his breath - the O'Neill yardstick for measuring temperature.  
  
"You heading home?" Jack breached the intimidating stillness, avoiding her line of sight while his hands pursued the keys within his pockets.   
  
"Long day," she muttered tiredly, watching him from the corner of her eye. Their strides continued into the parking lot, the fluorescent lamps that beamed overhead spotlighting the almost-tangible silence.   
  
"Yeah." He agreed weakly, his attention directed toward his feet, absently measuring each step.   
  
He was waiting - hoping idealistically that by opening the door of communication she would flood the gate, volunteering the thoughts and emotions that he knew lurked underneath. But both experience and a quick shot of her hunched frame told him that she wouldn't say a word ... nor did she have to.   
  
When briefly his eyes wondered upward, confirming she still tottered at his side, he found her staring vacantly, her eyes fatigued and unfocused. "You okay?"  
  
Arriving at her car, their feet abruptly stopped along its side. Her eyes finally fetched his, their familiar luster hooded as if shaded by sunglasses ... and in them reflected his own disquiet.  
  
"Fine." The riposte sounded worn and unconvincing, the word whispered as if in a library - and it did little to reassure him.  
  
The pair stood apart - their uncertainty guzzled the fresh evening breeze, constructing a bubble of stale air between them, as if standing in a vacuum. Both understood that their newborn arrangement hinged on a careful adherence to their new, yet undefined, rules. With their heightened apprehension of overstepping the bounds, however, they quantified everything with extreme precaution - questioning each action and each word - and the fear separated them like an invisible shield.   
  
He snuck his hands into his jeans, his legs leaning forward onto their toes. "I mean, back there ... Turghan ... he didn't ..."  
  
"No, Jack, I'm fine." Excluding her lips, Sam remained perfectly still, her eyes coming to rest solidly on his. "Really."   
  
He sighed; she'd said as much during the debriefing. But his mind secretly battled his heart, each at opposite sides of an imaginary tug rope. One side, stimulated by memories and emotions, demanded that he enfold her in his arms and harbor her from the world with his stalwart embrace. The other forced him back to earth, grounding him to the reality that now coexisted between them.   
  
His feet rocked back onto their heels as he stared out into the night, the droning darkness numbing his threadbare mind. He knew she would be fine - he learned long ago never to underestimate her strength.   
  
But, still, he ... worried.   
  
"Friends do this, right?" Jack grimaced as he grounded out the question with a throat suddenly bone dry.   
  
Never breaking contact, Sam tilted her head. "You mean care?"   
  
"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged.   
  
"I'm not sure I could *not* care." Sam's embarrassment at the inadvertent admission was immediate, compelling her to look away. Hastily blaming it on her acute exhaustion, and one heck of a bad mission, she calmly risked a small smile before finally shifting to acquire the keys from her purse. "Well ... good night."  
  
He watched her swing open the car door, nimbly dropping into the driver seat. "Night, Sam."   
  
Her hand halted midway to the ignition; their eyes caught for a split second before he walked away. She observed his retreating form until her eyes were blinded by the darkness. Sam started the car and promptly pulled away, a delicious smile tickling her overtired lips all the way home.   
  
******  
  
Dear Sam,  
  
So it comes down to this ... to words.  
  
*My* words.   
  
A lifetime of experiences ... and emotions ... and memories ...   
  
... all restricted to tiny, pathetic words.   
  
And you know what a craftsman *I am* with words!   
  
Yet, there are things that need be said ...  
  
... things said to *you* ...   
  
... I just don't know how to say them.  
  
You always said that I mastered the ability to dissect things to their simplest. So why break with tradition now, right?  
  
I'm a soldier.   
  
Deep down, that's who I am.  
  
But, without that, who am I?  
  
*Where* am I but on a distant planet ... abandoned to the solitude of my thoughts ... trapped inside a rapidly decomposing body with only a lifeless statue for company.   
  
Lifeless.   
  
Neither in the world of the dead, nor in the world of the living.   
  
So close, but so far.  
  
So close to an answer, a solution ... and yet, too far away for it to matter.  
  
So close to you, and yet so very far away.  
  
We're *very* far away, Sam ... we have been, for too long.  
  
But I'm stuck.   
  
Stuck staring at this damn piece of paper for hours - for the last residue of my eternity - examining it like a player scrutinizes a chessboard, waiting for his mind to formulate the next move.   
  
Not that you'll know that.  
  
Huh! Not that you'll ever *read* this!   
  
But yet it must be done.   
  
A soldier, tried and true, I cannot just surrender without a fight.  
  
Without saying the things left unspoken.  
  
Even if you'll never hear them.  
  
******  
  
"Colonel!" Straight away, the cry flagged Jack's attention, the sight of Kawalsky waving his arm breaking Jack's vacillation ... at least the decision was made.   
  
O'Neill had clocked in early, intending to tackle the paperwork stockpiling on his desk. Halfway into the mound, a petulant grumbling thundered in his stomach; so he childishly kicked away from the desk, the wheels underneath spinning the chair recklessly backward, and then bounded toward the door. Reaching the commissary, his body directed toward the food line. Snatching a clean tray, he had selected his usual - cereal, milk, banana - when he heard it.  
  
Sam's laughter navigated the room, its melodious aroma enchanting his senses. It wasn't loud, but he presumed that his ears had fine-tuned the sound over the years. At first sweet candy to his ears, the sound soon soured as he grounded to a halt, coming full-stop upon reaching the mess hall, tray in hand.   
  
There he stood, each foot yanking him in a different direction - one toward their table, the other toward the exit ... he was convinced the former had conveniently forgotten about their last 'encounter.'   
  
She'd jumped him ... well, a virus-infected, prehistoric *form* of Sam had jumped him.   
  
God, but she had felt good in his arms, so much so that O'Neill had almost broken because of it ... nearly chucking their embryonic friendship out the very wormhole that instigated it for the feverish temptation that had assailed his reserve. All his logic and reasoning were threatened with one intoxicating, blistering kiss.   
  
Not that it had ended there.   
  
What Sam would never remember, at least he hoped, was how he'd turned the tables by spiraling her around, effectively pinning her heated body between himself and the locker. They dueled passionately with hungry nips and moans, their groping fueled by a natural competitiveness that, with each kiss, escalated their temperature ten degrees until he swore his head would combust. No thoughts existed, no rules, only a fire that, despite the laws of science, intensified as their urgent kisses deprived them of oxygen.  
  
Until she moved, propelling him backward, then slamming him down onto the bench. Like a sledgehammer to the head, the brunt force jumpstarted his senses, all the reasons for *not* doing this deluging his mind ... including the fact that Sam was, obviously, not herself.  
  
So Jack had stopped her - taking quite a beating in the process - and had escorted her to the infirmary. After distributing the vaccine both on base and on P3X-797, he endured several sleepless nights replaying that scene in the locker room. O'Neill knew he'd already been infected by that point; but, he pondered whether it was the virus that triggered his rather inappropriate behavior or whether it was ... something else.   
  
He never found the answer.  
  
Thankful that no one had witnessed their little tango and that she, apparently, retained no memory other than *her* part in the seduction, he wrote off the incident. And, other than her apology afterward - which he dismissed, as usual, with a flippant remark about her wrestling skills - neither had mentioned it since.   
  
Convinced it was best - for *both* of them - to move on, his feet did just that, traveling forward until arriving at their table. O'Neill deposited his tray before settling himself in the chair beside Kawalsky, who updated Jack on their conversation. "I was just telling Sam about Daniel's - performance - on P3X-595."  
  
"Ah!" Comfortably seated, Jack gripped the milk container, adroitly peeling the paper carton to pour the contents into the bowl before him. "Yeah, Daniel was a *big* hit! Not much of a singing voice, though." Spoon in hand, a grin divided his lips before he drove a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Must be the eyes."  
  
"YMCA?" Sam quizzed him unbelievingly.   
  
"Ah, yes ... the disco medley!" Jack replied sarcastically.  
  
"Don't forget about the dance moves." Kawalsky added, the two men looking at each other in mock seriousness.  
  
"No, couldn't forget *that*." The picture of Daniel doing that *stupid* dance too much, his face erupted into a full-blown smile before adding dryly, "As much as I try to."   
  
"Well, in that case, I think a special request for all teams to carry video cameras on missions is in order." The two officers veered their questioning gaze toward her, obviously clueless as to her meaning. Quickly casting her eyes between them, she hastily added, "So that we can capture these - cultural - experiences ... for further study."  
  
Having that episode permanently etched on tape for Daniel's eternal torture would thrill Jack to no end ... especially since the anthropologist hadn't remembered a thing. He'd actually accused O'Neill and Kawalsky of concocting the story, until Teal'c corroborated their account. Of course, they *had* omitted the exact reason he woke up without his clothes - they figured Daniel had suffered enough humiliation, regardless of whether he remembered or not.  
  
"Uh, maybe you should be careful what you wish for there, Sam." Kawalsky, long finished with his breakfast, stirred cream and sugar into his misting coffee. "I mean, imagine having that Land of the Light virus stuff on tape. We'd *never* hear the end of that!"   
  
A rosy blush pinched Sam's cheeks, while Jack scrutinized the swimming shapes in his bowl. Kawalsky, however, basked inside at their reaction, but not out of cruelty. Charlie had known Jack since before he met Sam, and had remained friends throughout their marriage. He'd never swallowed their breakup, secretly maintaining the torch that both were too eager, in his opinion, to douse. "Although, I could think of a few scenes that might be pretty fun to watch."  
  
"Careful, Charlie." O'Neill's warning was instant, and it sported his best command voice. Jack did *not* want to talk about this - not with Kawalsky, and certainly *not* with Sam.  
  
Of course, she shared his discomfort; but Sam also understood that, if left to fester, it could undermine everything they've worked for. So, she ripped a page from the O'Neill handbook, and utilized humor. "Or we may just have to bring up the Bachelor Party incident."   
  
Focused on the fork scraping the remaining eggs from her plate, she missed the shock that aligned their expressions, although she could practically feel Kawalsky's disbelief.   
  
Surprised with her ease of conversation in light of its context, Jack chimed in, taking from her cue. "We have pictures of that right?  
  
"Oh yeah." She confirmed vigorously, her smile now possessing a devious glint. "They're locked away in a secret storage facility at the Pentagon ... for safekeeping."  
  
"Hey, can't computers turn pictures into videos nowadays?" O'Neill prolonged the conversation, discussing the matter with a seriousness rivaling any topic deliberated in the briefing room.   
  
Their banter played like a tennis match, with Kawalsky as an unwitting spectator. Although firstly embarrassed, inside he enjoyed their playfulness, and each round only served to confirm his earlier suspicions.   
  
"Absolutely," Sam declared excitedly. "I've got this computer in my lab that can digitally re-master any image. It can even add sound effects."  
  
"Sound effects? Cool." O'Neill grinned at the idea. "What d'ya think? A little moaning ... some gasping perhaps?"   
  
"Oh, will you two stop?" An exasperated Kawalsky finally intervened, albeit a few decibels higher than normal. "I give up already!"  
  
Jack and Sam swapped victorious smiles. "Never could hold one on us, Charlie."  
  
"Yeah. Well, you better watch it, Colonel," Charlie warned kiddingly. "Because, when it's your turn, I'll be there like the paparazzi to document *every* second! I'm talking video recorders, microphones, cameras - the works!"   
  
Jack shook his head emphatically. "Not gonna happen, Kawalsky."   
  
"Really?" Kawalsky drawled, donning an evil grin as the fabled light clicked on above his head. "Kind-of like the time in basic you told me about? You know, the girl who did that thing with her ..."  
  
"Charlie! For cryin' out loud!" Jack's eyes seared the man next to him; although O'Neill had virtually shared everything with Sam through the course of their relationship, there were *some* things he kept private ... for obvious reasons.  
  
"What?" Charlie feigned innocence while Sam watched with avid curiosity. "Now, Colonel, don't be shy. I'm sure Sam would *love* to hear about that one." Sam slanted forward until her elbows contacted the tabletop; cupping her chin inside her open palm, she raised her eyebrows in anticipation.  
  
"Okay ... fine." O'Neill readied for his strike. "Well, *maybe* she'd *love* to know about that little incident in Germany."   
  
Charlie's smug grin dropped like an anvil from a skyscraper. "You wouldn't?" A self-satisfied smile his only response, the two friends locked their eyes in a playful standoff. "You so don't want to start this with me, Jack. I've got *so* much on you, and I'd hate to embarrass you in front of Sam here."   
  
Briefly flitting his eyes toward Sam, he returned to their gridlock stare, immediately countering the faux threat. "And what makes you think I don't have *so* much on you?"  
  
"Well, bring it on then!"  
  
"Okay, flyboy, you've so had it!"  
  
"Gentlemen!" Sam reluctantly interrupted their childish game, one normally engaged in while drunk ... not to say watching this sober version was any less amusing. "As much as I'd like to watch this fascinating exchange, I do have some reports that need writing." Sam stripped the jacket that hugged the seat back as she stood, draping it across her arm while the same hand poised her coffee mug.  
  
"See ya, Sam!" Kawalsky tossed behind him as she passed, his eyes never leaving Jack's.   
  
Unexpectedly, Sam halted near Charlie's back and pivoted toward him, leaning her free hand on his shoulder. "Oh, and Charlie?" She whispered the words deliberately into his attentive ears. "Jack told me about Germany a *long* time ago." Kawalsky froze, his eyes searing the man opposite - the one pretending not to hear every word, but betrayed himself with the mile-wide grin pasted on his face. "You didn't *honestly* think I bought your story about the tattoo, did you?"   
  
Not waiting for a response, Sam traded a brief smile with Jack. She straightened her back, nodding at O'Neill before steering her body toward the door. "Let me know who wins."   
  
"Oh, I could tell you that already," Jack flung after her as she quit the table.   
  
Stalking her trail until impeded by the corner, Jack's eyes restored to the tray, absently inspecting the remaining crumbs. Ladling the last remnants of cereal, Jack halted the movement when he sensed someone watching him.   
  
Kawalsky ... staring straight at him ... a goof-ball grin plastered to his face.   
  
"What?" O'Neill growled.  
  
The grin widened like a cheshire cat. "Nothing," Charlie unconvincingly replied, his eyes darting between O'Neill and the seat previously occupied by Sam.  
  
Jack rolled his eyes in irritation before polishing off the final spoon of cereal. He understood ... perfectly. But, though the familiar exchange fit comfortably like an old blanket, he considered it a good sign for their friendship ... and nothing else. "Come on, we're gonna be late for our briefing."  
  
Kawalsky cancelled his amused grin; but, whatever conclusion Jack had extracted from this morning, Charlie challenged it with his own. The past twenty minutes had proven something - something he intended to fix ... with or without their help. "Teal'c was in his room earlier meditating, but I haven't seen Daniel today."  
  
"Oh, he'll be there, *believe* me..." Both men arose capably, slipping into military mode with each step away from the table. "... if his excitement from the MALP readings yesterday are anything to go by. He probably left a trail of drool all the way to the gateroom."   
  
******  
  
But I'm also a man, Sam.  
  
A man struggling with himself ...  
  
... struggling with his actions ...  
  
... with his regrets.  
  
A man struggling desperately with his legacy.  
  
It's ironic really ... *me* writing these insignificant thoughts on this insignificant slice of paper ... just like the thousands of glyphs that have landscaped our travels through the stargate ...   
  
... the ones Daniel usually gushes over ...   
  
... the ones I usually dismiss as rocks ...  
  
Thousands of glyphs, accumulating into a historical diary ... sketched centuries ago so that their story - their legacy - would not be drowned in the sea of time.  
  
I give them credit now. It's a lot ... defining one's existence.   
  
I've done a lot of things in my life, Sam - awful things.   
  
Things I *should* be asking forgiveness for.   
  
Things I hope you'll never know about.  
  
This being one of them. But, of course, you already know about this one, don't you?   
  
It's certainly not my finest moment.  
  
God, Sam, I'm sorry.   
  
I'm sorry for everything ...  
  
... for leaving you when you needed me the most ...  
  
... for promising you long ago that I was something I turned out not to be.  
  
I'm old - very old, in fact - and I'm tired.  
  
I'm tired of the peace and tranquility here.   
  
A place that leaves me nothing to do but think ...  
  
... that affords me nothing but thoughts and emotions better left to the past.  
  
I look around me, at these young kids. They're so determined to live their brief life to the fullest ... striving to not waste a single moment.  
  
Guess I've striven to waste every damn good moment I've had.  
  
But we used to be that way, Sam. I do remember that.  
  
All the crazy and wild things we did together ... until we were ripped apart.   
  
Is that what I'm doing, Sam?   
  
When I tell them their 'god' doesn't exist, am I extinguishing their flame of happiness ... like ours was extinguished?  
  
Maybe these young kids know more than me. Maybe living for only a hundred days isn't such an injustice.   
  
Tomorrow *is* only an illusion.  
  
I learned that the hard way.   
  
I'm *still* learning it.  
  
******  
  
"What are you working on?"   
  
Peering up from the keyboard, Sam's eyes zoomed around the bulky monitor to discover the petite figure her equipment had concealed. Janet bestowed an amiable grin as she moved around the computer stand to park at Sam's side.   
  
Unable to fathom how Janet, in essence, snuck up on her - especially since the echoing footfalls from the shoes Janet typically wore announced her arrival seconds ahead - Sam shook off her surprise nonetheless. "Oh. I'm just completing the analysis of the soil samples SG6 brought back today."   
  
Janet looked over her shoulder as Sam pointed to the screen. "Need any help?"   
  
"Uh, sure." Sam shifted her chair sideways, making room near the computer console. "I'm, uh, surprised you have the time."  
  
Janet crossed the room to haul a vacant stool to Sam's side, positioning it within viewing range of the monitor. "Well, all of our teams are either on downtime or off-world at the moment." Janet poised herself on the stool, crossing her legs in effort to mollify the unpleasant chair; her downcast eyes avoided Sam as she continued innocently. "And, since no one's assaulted a member of the opposite sex in the locker room of late, I guess it's recess until the bell rings."  
  
Sam grimaced for the second time that day. "Am I *ever* going to live that down?"  
  
Risking a cursory glance in Sam's direction, Janet carried on, the mischief in her tone undeterred. "Well, if Lt. Johnson will forever be known as 'froth-mouth,' don't you think jumping Colonel O'Neill in the locker room - and inflicting some pretty nice shiners, by the way - would be hard to forget? So, in short, no."  
  
"That's comforting." Sam remarked dryly.   
  
Sam pointed to the disk resting adjacent the computer, which Janet handed to her. "Well, it couldn't have been *that* bad!"  
  
"No," Sam answered automatically, her body bent over as she inserted the diskette into the drive. "But then sex with Jack was always incredible."   
  
Disbelief hit first, her eyes screwing shut as if the sheer pressure could undo her words. Next emerged anger, as she cursed herself for her lack of restraint. Sam *never* talked about such personal things ... and certainly not with a stranger, which Dr. Fraiser practically was to her.   
  
Ignoring Janet's amused complexion, Sam returned to the computer, her quickly tapped keystrokes yielding the next test results. All the while, Janet regarded Sam curiously, striving like mad to bite back her threatening smile. Janet related to her frustration, having suffered through a divorce herself - although she suspected that Sam never called O'Neill a cheap, misogynistic, drunken redneck.   
  
So, despite the wide-open door Sam just created, Janet considerately closed it ... slightly anyway. "At any rate, it wasn't your fault. Like I told the Colonel, you were afflicted by an organism that released a hormone into your system, which stimulated the primitive regions of the brain."  
  
"I know," Sam rushed, fluttering her hand to block the explanation. "It just had to be me, though, you know? It couldn't have been the other way around." Sam hated the whine in her voice, but found it difficult to muffle her mortification as she relived the events in her mind.   
  
"Could've been worse," Janet uttered soberly. "It could've been him with another woman."  
  
The notion turned Sam cold ... because she was right. It could happen - it probably *would* happen sooner or later - for either of them. It was a consideration she had weighed heavily upon during their truce, and an eventuality she had since tried to prepare herself for ... until she concluded there *was* no way to prepare for something like that. And since he obviously felt no concern, for surely he had to have contemplated the prospect as well, she resolved herself to the same indifference.  
  
"Janet, we don't see each other that way anymore." Still unable to meet her eyes, Sam chided Janet with all the insistence she could muster, uncertain whether her efforts attempted to convince Janet or herself. Regardless, Sam kept her eyes firm on the green letters that flashed like Christmas lights amid the black screen.  
  
Although a believable performance, Janet wasn't buying it, *especially* after the 'incredible' comment. Janet, nevertheless, thought it high time to change the subject. "So ... always?"  
  
Biting her lower lip, Sam nodded in affirmation, affording a small grin before the blaring klaxons preceded an out-of-breath Kawalsky storming into the lab.  
  
"Kawalsky?" Sam checked him over before stretching her eyesight past him into the hallway. "Where's the rest of SG1?"  
  
"Uh, still on Argos." Charlie rasped, the words trickling off three hardened breaths. He paused to catch his breath before rushing out his explanation. "We've come across a bit of a ... problem."  
  
"What kind of problem?" Janet asked the question this time. Both women climbed off their stools to inspect him closer.  
  
"A virus." Noticing their panicked reaction, he quickly added, "I'm not infected. It's not airborne."  
  
Carter relaxed somewhat, releasing her indrawn breath, as Janet continued. "Maybe you better start at the beginning."  
  
"Okay. Um, on our first night, the Argosians fell unconscious ... all of 'em, at the same time. Next morning, they all woke up simultaneously. Same thing happened the following day. Daniel deciphered some text from a statue in one of their buildings, and believes the Argosians suffer from a virus." His outstretched thumb lingered over his shoulder, its direction indicating the gateroom. "He and Teal'c are still translating the rest of the statue."  
  
"They lose unconsciousness in tandem? That's odd." A quick glance over to Dr. Fraiser confirmed the sentiment.  
  
"It gets worse." The doctors again directed their attention to him. "Dr. Jackson delivered a baby when we first arrived, a healthy boy. Next day, he was the size of a toddler."  
  
Janet shook her head. "I'm not following you."   
  
"According to Daniel," Kawalsky disclosed, "they live about 1/250th of our normal lifespan."  
  
Sam squinted as she absorbed the information. "You're talking about accelerated growth?" Her mind boggled at the concept, the mounting excitement inflating her tone.  
  
"Yep. According to them, the Argosians live for '100 blissful days' ... before they die. And," Charlie paused, his fists clenching at his side, "we believe Colonel O'Neill has been infected."  
  
An corrosive whirlpool sucked her into disbelief; it froze her mind, and her body trembled with shell-shock.   
  
"Wait, you just said the virus wasn't airborne." Janet commandeered the interrogation, her professionalism overriding the empathy she intuited for her new friend.  
  
Thankful for the question, since it stopped him from stopping, Kawalsky nodded at Janet. "That's right. Daniel, Teal'c, and myself are fine."  
  
"How exactly did Colonel O'Neill contract the virus?"  
  
Kawalsky cringed at the innocent question, wishing Sam weren't around to hear the not-so-innocent answer. Perhaps, he thought, he could explain the circumstances without divulging *all* the details. "Well, you see, one of the Argosian women did this - dance - in front of the Colonel, and ..."   
  
Nope, he knew where *that* sentence headed. So he ignored the standoffish pose from Dr. Fraiser - he didn't *dare* look at Sam - and opted for an alternate route. "Well, you see, there was this cake that was ... 'only for him.' And, afterward, these women grabbed him and ..."   
  
Without meaning to - in fact, he'd meant just the opposite - Charlie dug himself into a deeper hole. With no other choice but the truth, he opted just to spit the words out. "We think the cake that Colonel O'Neill ate was drugged." Kawalsky articulated purposely, then hastily added to the defense. "He had absolutely *no* idea what he was doing, *that much* was obvious. One of the Argosians had chosen him, and took him into one of their shelters. We found him again when the others left for the same 'house' and fell asleep."   
  
Charlie managed in his uncalculated ramble to skip some *minor* details, like Jack's state of undress when they found him, and what Kawalsky *thought* had occurred during those missing moments.   
  
Until Sam asked the inevitable question.   
  
"And how is it that Colonel O'Neill contracted the virus, and the other members of SG1 didn't?"  
  
Kawalsky silently cursed Sam for being so, well, Sam ... didn't she know that her question basically forced him to say it, regardless of how much it would hurt her?   
  
"Unless it was the cake." Janet piped in; her hand hovered by her temple while her mind assimilated the information. "Perhaps ingesting the food, or even the drug itself, caused his infection."   
  
Kawalsky could bend down on his knees and kiss Fraiser's feet!  
  
"True," Sam nodded thoughtfully. "It's something we shouldn't rule out." She paused for a moment before she turned again to the Major. "Is there anything else we should know, anything that separates his actions from the rest of the team?"   
  
Despite the pointed question, Kawalsky *knew* Sam hadn't suspected ... because who would? Anyone who knew him, at least before, would never think him capable of - this - with anyone other than Sam.   
  
But he had. Not that Jack had confirmed it, but come on ... Kawalsky wasn't blind.   
  
Daniel had excluded air as a means of transmission; Charlie supposed ingestion of the cake was a possibility - after all, no other team member partook in it. On the other hand, if he omitted something potentially vital, with the knowledge that it might hinder their progress ...   
  
No. He couldn't do that to him, no matter how painful this was.   
  
Jack was braver than that.   
  
So, he would be, too.   
  
"When we found the Colonel, he was ... uh ... undressed." Kawalsky started out slow, prepping himself and his audience for the blow to come. His eyes briefly skirted toward Sam, but her disciplined expression gave nothing away. Knowing that she hung on his every word, though, Kawalsky plowed onward, employing his best professional tone. "Although Colonel O'Neill has neither confirmed nor denied it, I believe he ... slept ... with Kynthia."   
  
"Slept?" Janet restated the word gently, "As in sexual intercourse?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
And there it stopped ... the electronic whirring elicited from the machines encircling the room ... the meaningless muddle unsuspecting airmen engaged in as they traipsed outside the cold lab ... the rhythmic beats tolling through her body, familiar pulses that were supplanted by a cavernous sting that dulled her ability to breathe.  
  
"I see." Janet afforded one look at Sam before her eyes retreated, fearful that the sight would crack her professional demeanor. "Okay. That may prove important. I'm, uh, going to run a routine check and protein analysis on these blood samples. Sam," Janet gently queried, "I'll need you to run some tests here in the lab."  
  
Mentally slapping herself, Sam responded vacantly, "Sure. Right."   
  
Fraiser determinedly exited the room, hurriedly shuffling down the corridor with the samples she received from Kawalsky. Sam, meanwhile, positioned herself back at the console, stoically extracting the disk from the computer and, then, clearing the results that still adorned the screen ... not noticing - not *wanting* to notice - that she wasn't alone.   
  
Charlie remained in the lab, his presence quiet and unsure. He wanted to say something, comfort her somehow, but the proper words eluded him. Only his silence prevailed, and he hated it.   
  
Sam heard the nervous scuffling of his feet against the hard cement. She knew, and her heart squeezed at the gesture, but she couldn't talk about this ... not now. So she ignored him, pretending to busy herself with her work, until he finally gave up and silently walked away.   
  
Once alone, she leaned back into the uncomfortable stool, and wrenched her eyes tightly ... wishing, not for the first time, that she hadn't made that stupid request. She'd still be a member of SG1 - she would've accompanied them on this mission ... she would be there now, *doing* something, helping somehow. She could've ...   
  
What? Stopped this from happening?  
  
No, she couldn't have stopped this, no more than he would want her to. Yes, he'd been drugged - even her befuddled mind had taken in that much.   
  
But it didn't help.   
  
It did nothing to numb the pain that cultivated deep within her, a pain she felt everywhere ... in every joint, every bone, every muscle. And it weighed her down like a bag of stone. Lost in thought, her left thumb habitually rubbed against her ring finger; but instead of its usual comfort, she found only bare skin, and the emptiness from the gesture snapped her from the entrancing cycle of hurt and pity.   
  
She would *not* think about this now.   
  
Now she needed to work, to help Janet solve this - breaking down would not help anyone, least of all Jack. As much as it hurt, she couldn't let him down ... she *wouldn't*.   
  
Yep, she knew it would happen eventually.   
  
She just never thought it would be so soon.  
  
******  
  
I'm not good at this ... I guess I never have been.  
  
But *we* were good, Sam.   
  
Finding you was the smartest thing I ever did.  
  
Although, you'd probably argue that *you* found *me*.   
  
God, I wish you could ...  
  
... just to hear your voice one last time.  
  
I've considered myself the luckiest son-of-a-bitch to ever walk the earth since that day. Even with how our story ended, Sam, I would never take back a single day we had together.  
  
Destiny sure went out of its way to bring us together ...   
  
... and took such cruel, equal measures to split us apart.   
  
I suppose that's something I never understood. I mean, why would fate do that?  
  
I've never found the answer.   
  
I'm not even sure there's one to find.  
  
But we can't look back anymore, Sam.  
  
Dwelling on the past - it's destroying us ...   
  
... it's destroying who we were ... who we could be.  
  
Before this, before the stargate, we *had* lost us ... the good memories, even the bad ones.   
  
But thanks to a piece of alien technology - and fate, I suppose - we rediscovered each other ... as friends.  
  
I'm thankful for that.  
  
I'm thankful for you.  
  
Always.  
  
I guess it was there all along, wasn't it?   
  
My legacy ... the one thing in my life worth writing about.  
  
You.   
  
You and Charlie.  
  
It always was, Sam.  
  
And, thanks to this insignificant piece of paper, it always will be ...   
  
... forever.  
  
******  
  
He felt his youth returning already, despite the passing of only twenty minutes; so much so, Jack decided to walk about the place one last time. His team busied themselves amongst the Argosians, readying them for life after a hundred days. Feeling like a decrepit, old man, Jack needed action, even if his elderly feet could only advance one tiny step at a time.   
  
Notwithstanding his 'experience' on Argos, Jack truly appreciated its beauty, especially the water. He paused along the beach, his heavy boots imprinting their silhouette in the soft sand. A contented breeze ruffled his straggly hair; the wind shepherding beads of salt that stung his eyes as they beheld the listless ocean. Ribbons of bantam streams were staggered about the boundless shore in the foreground, while their current amassed on the horizon. The motionless water ricocheted the glistening sunrays like light reflected off a mirror ... the scene reminded him of a mirage.   
  
"Jack!"   
  
Despite the distance, he heard the call as it sailed along the ocean's tender breath, his ears instantly identifying its owner. He swiveled to address her, but his aged body executed the turn too slowly, and she reached his side before he managed halfway. "We're ready to head out whenever you are."   
  
Tension set her shoulders rigid; even her eyes squinted as she observed him, endeavoring to cloak the emotion lurking beneath their lids.   
  
Whether he perceived her strain, or merely preferred to ignore it, his sight reverted to the picturesque tableau that seasoned the planet. "It really is beautiful here." Sam's tautness released with the sound of his olden voice, and it even affected a smile ... he truly did resemble his grandfather. "Very similar to Florida, in fact."  
  
"You *will* recover, Jack." Unable to contain her mirth, she loosened with their casual dialogue. "Actually, you should start feeling the effect of your immune system attacking the nanocytes soon. It will just take some time to return to normal."   
  
"Yeah." The air in his matured lungs stilled with hesitation, as he racked his brain for a way to explain ... but how could he explain to someone he still thought of as his wife - ring or no ring - that he'd essentially cheated on her? He *had* been drugged, true; but, he also *had* betrayed her ... for all intents and purposes, that was how it felt to him. "Look, Sam, I ... I know how this looks but ... Kawalsky told you I was drugged, right?"  
  
"Yes, he did." Sam replied soberly, all the while watching him carefully.   
  
"And you *know* this *never* would've happened if not for that, right?" He had meant what he told Kynthia earlier - he'd learned much from her, learned how to appreciate every day. But, she was just a sweet kid, who, under normal circumstances, he never would've looked twice at - well maybe just a peek ... he was only human.  
  
"Jack, you don't owe me an ..."  
  
"I know." He interrupted her, the fact she completely avoided answering his question not lost on him. "It's not an explanation ... it's the truth." He then added more seriously, "You deserve the truth."  
  
Sam hung her head before she cleared her throat, diverting her eyes away from him as she whispered, "I think, deep down, we both knew this day would come."  
  
Disappointment flashed through his unguarded eyes, although his mind conceded her argument. "I guess. Doesn't make it any easier."   
  
'For either of us,' he added silently.  
  
Literally pulling herself together, she exhaled a small breath, swiveling around to once again catch his gaze. A forced smile cracked her lips, hoping to disguise the anguish in her tone. "I admit it's a little ... awkward. But we agreed to put this," her hand gestured between them, "behind us. It's just ... one of those things we need to get used to, I guess."  
  
Though his eyes appeared mesmerized by the placid scenery, his mind focused solely on the object grazing against his index finger.   
  
The letter.   
  
He'd ripped the paper from his notepad when he finished, and situated the folded square into his coat pocket. Following his 'rescue,' he removed the note while toddling along the seaside, rotating it gauchely in his fidgety hand.   
  
The note idled when she appeared.   
  
He peeked down, spotting a white edge peeping from between his fingers. He never intended for her to see it. But, with Sam standing before him ...  
  
He blamed it on his awful experience, one hopefully *never* to be repeated.   
  
Blamed it on his old age, whether simulated or not.   
  
Hell, he even blamed it on the romantic ambiance.   
  
But he thought he might actually go through with it.  
  
With more resolve than he felt, his throat swallowed his hollow breath before his mouth ushered his next words. "Sam, I, uh, have something to ..."  
  
"Jack!" The sound stifled his sentence, its clamor dissolving the wind's previous splendor.   
  
Kynthia.   
  
The moment evaporated before him like morning dew trapped beneath the afternoon sun. She emerged beside him, her arm weaving around his in an attempt to hold him upright. "Daniel tells me you are leaving soon." Jack could only close his eyes at the picture they made ... in front of Sam, no less!   
  
"We'll, uh, just be over there ... " she stuttered, seeking desperately to quit the pair gracefully. And yet, despite the fervent need to look away, she couldn't. Sam couldn't peel her eyes from the scene before her; a glutton to the pain the sight provoked, her mind repeating all the while that the sight was not a dream unfolding ... it was reality. "Whenever you're ready."   
  
His elderly eyes leered after Sam as she walked off, not once looking back, and the glue holding his heart together cracked with each step.   
  
He vaguely heard Kynthia speaking, but he understood none of it. She, then, kissed his cheek and smiled before she, too, walked away, leaving him alone along the shore - but he'd truly been alone since Sam left. He lifted his hand to ineptly unfold the paper; his eyes flocked to his writing, the isolated words drifting within the paper's emptiness.  
  
'Dear Sam,  
  
I love you.  
  
Jack.'  
  
He crumpled the note in his palm, his hands molding it into a tight ball before tossing it into the ocean. O'Neill turned and headed toward his team, leaving his legacy where it belonged.  
  
To history.   
  
  
******  
  
The End 


End file.
